As It Should Have Been
by XxEdenxX
Summary: Sorry guys, this is a Christine-and-Erik story. Set after the events of the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber and the book by Gaston Leroux
1. PrologueChapter 1

!--This file created by AppleWorks HTML Filter 6.0-- ( My first fanfic, orginally written for a Creative Writers Award a year and a half ago. The version that was published when I came second was slightly different to this one (I changed the ending entirely, so you could call this the "rough draft". Enjoy it, please R&R, I'd like to know what people would have thought should I have published this instead.)  
  
Prologue  
  
She spins. Her arms are outstretched, towards the many rows and stalls that tonight, will be full of people and faces. Her throat is filled with music, the notes are sharp and bittersweet to hear.  
  
He twitches, flinches at the sound of her voice. He forces himself to fully face the stage, and to look at her. He briefly closes his eyes, then open them, and watches, wrapt.  
  
Watches as she turns, throws out her arms to an imaginary audience. Watches as she bends and sweeps, dancing to the music she is creating. It hurts.  
  
Those pale grey eyes, wide, childlike. Those dark curls. The slender body. The white skin, flushing faintly over the cheekbones. She is beautiful. Beautiful to see, and the voice, the voice holds one captivated.  
  
But to him, it hurts. Her very presence brings back memories. Memories pushed deep inside, and locked in boxes inside his head. She stepped back like that, as he advanced towards her, his own throat filled with music, as he sang to her, seducing her. She trembled and swayed like that, though then his arms had been around her-how he'd savoured that moment, wishing it to never end.  
  
Chapter 1.  
  
Erik snaps himself out of his torment and turns away, concealing himself carefully against the prop-wall. His breath is burning, fast and hot. He forces himself to glide slowly away, and Christine's voice become fainter as he walks through the off-stage corridors. His attention dosent escape the fact that every door is closed. Trying one, Erik discovers that not only were they shut up tight, but locked as well. He passs by door seven. It is boarded up. Erik frowns. Christine appears to have lost access to her old dressing room; probably boarded up because the secret path behind the mirror had been discovered by the raging mob, over a month ago. The mob had destroyed his home, his underground kingdom. And now, he guesses, there are no more secret paths, or corridors. Erik passes the door, and continues down into what was known as the common room. It is silent, no one is here. He helps himself to a couple of stale biscuits, delicately brushing the crumbs from his shirt-sleeves.  
  
They'll all be over at the "new" lodgings.  
  
"They" being the dancers, chorus, singers and soloists of the Opera Populaire. Erik gives a sour smile. For some odd reason, no-one wants to be here. The Opera Ghost wasn't found-therefore must still be at large. Still, it means I can wander around more freely, he thinks.  
  
Footsteps sound. Erik turns and quickly flattens himself behind the door. His breath catches... 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2. Christine!  
  
The word explodes in his mind. Close enough to touch, She passes by. Erik holds his breath, wills himself not to sob. Christine drops down into a thread-bare and worn sofa. He watches as she closes her eyes. Before he realises, Erik's stepping towards her, one hand outstretched. His hand touches a strand of curling hair. And Christine stifles a scream, and sits up, jumping away, shying away, stepping backwards, her eyes wide. And his heart breaks as her eyes fill with tears.  
  
"No, no..." He whispers.  
  
Christine's backed herself up against a table, she's shaking her head. As he steps closer the tears slip down her cheeks. His fingertip touches one and traces it's path to her chin.  
  
Christine turns her face into his palm.  
  
Time stops.  
  
Her eyes close, and she tilts her head fully into his hand.  
  
Erik can't help the shaky sigh that escapes his lips. Christine smiles, and steps close, resting her full weight against his. And then his arms are around her, his body shakes as it comes into contact with hers. He savours the feel of her, he drinks in the smell of her perfume. It's musky and inxicating. He clings to Christine to her like a drowning soul. The fragile grip he's had on his sanity snaps, like a tired elastric, and he sobs, gulping sobs, the sobs of hurts present and past...and most miraculous of all, Christine' arms tighten around him, and she's cradling him in her arms. He wants to ask if this is a dream, but he can't.  
  
God, if this is a dream, then never send me back to cruel reality... 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.  
  
Two eyes watch the two figures that are pressed tightly together in that dim common room. Meg Giry, by any other name.  
  
Her eyes are wide as she watches her friend Christine stroke the monsters head as tenderly as if he were her lover. A million thoughts race through Meg's head.  
  
She must be delusional; The Ghost's drugged her...  
  
He's going to murder her...then he'll murder me...  
  
Piangi...Jospeh Buquet...  
  
Where is Raoul? He said he'd be with her...where's the Guard...?  
  
Meg's mouth is dry, her throat is frozen. She can't scream, can't call out. And her feet won't move. She's glued to the spot.  
  
"Christine..." He whispers the name.  
  
"Yes?" Her voice is soft, and it quivers.  
  
"Is this really..."  
  
"Angel, it's really me." Christine says, her voice still soft.  
  
Erik nods solemnly. "You knew..."  
  
"Yes, I knew. I sent Raoul away, so I could sing, and sing for you."  
  
Erik looks at her, cups her face in his gloved hands. "Come with me."  
  
She widens her eyes. "I...can't. They'll realise I'm missing....they all knew I was coming here...they'll blame you."  
  
"I don't care. Come with me, Christine." His voice is vaguely hopeful.  
  
Christine casts nervous looks around her. "I've been a fool. I made the wrong choice, down there. I wanted Raoul to be safe...but...I also thought I wanted him. I was wrong."  
  
"So come with me now." Erik straightens, standing tall, one hand trembles on her shoulder.  
  
"Yes...I want to." Christine looks up at him. "Take me away."  
  
Meg gasps, a barely audible sound. Christine's face caught in an unreconisable expression. Her hands are gripping the monsters. Meg realises too late that she must move. The monster has seen her.  
  
Christine is the first to react. "Meg!" Her voice is shocked. She steps towards her friend. Meg shudders at the sight of the man in the mask.  
  
"No, Meg." Christine sobs, seeing her friends reaction. "You don't know. You havent seen us. I'm going away. This is the man...this is my choice."  
  
Meg is stunned. "This man is a murderer."  
  
He steps forwards, protectively grasping Christine and pulling her close. Meg can see that Christine offers no resistance, and looks up at the cold- looking mask.  
  
The lips beneath the mask move. "Miss Giry, I'll advise that you have seen, or heard nothing..."  
  
"Or a disaster beyond my imagination will occur?" Meg snaps, and then steps back, terrified at her remark.  
  
He shakes his head. "That Ghost died long ago. Now there is only Erik."  
  
Christine's eyes widen, and her lips part. "Erik." She whispers, repeating the name.  
  
She smiles. And Erik holds out a hand. They step past Meg as if she doesn't exist. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.  
  
Later Meg Giry would say they simply disappeared, because that's what it looked like.  
  
The two of them, Christine and Erik left the room, and Meg heard Christine's footsteps echo down the corridor. Then they stopped. And when Meg rushed to the door, there was nobody there. And all the doors were still locked. Meg had finally found her voice, and she began to scream.  
  
Raoul de Chagny is furious. His blue eyes are icy, and they are snapping grey/blue with intensity and temper. He turns his fury onto the Chief of Police, who is smiling vaguely, and wishing he were back at his post, with the bottle of gin in his desk.  
  
"Sir, I really think...."  
  
"Damn what you think!" Raoul snaps. "I want this whole Opera house searched."  
  
"The search party has been and gone. They have found nothing. Not a cobweb has been disturbed." The Chief runs at his temples, tiredly. He is also fed- up with the temper tantrum that Raoul is throwing.  
  
"I'll go and search myself." Raoul is shouting, stalking about the room like a cahed tiger.  
  
"If you wish to put your life at risk, then do so. There's no evidence that this "opera-ghost" is back...only the word of an already flighty chorus- girl."  
  
"No evidence-Christine is missing."  
  
The Chief nods. "That's right...you were planning on marrying this girl next week, were you not?"  
  
"What are you implying?"  
  
"Well, Sir, she may have-"  
  
Raoul cuts him off. "Christine would never run away from me."  
  
"Wedding nerves, perhaps?"  
  
Raoul slams his fist against a mahogoney panelled bookshelf. "No."  
  
Christine is lying against the velvet softness of the cloak. She has not asked where she is, except she is watching the stars. They are beautiful and bright, and she's completely peaceful. He's humming a soft tune under his breath.  
  
She sits up after a while, and searchs for his outline against the darkness.  
  
"I'm never going back, Erik."  
  
Erik clears his throat. "You must, Christine. I have not thought; I have no- where to take you, and they will wonder where you are."  
  
"I do not care, as long as I am with you." She reaches out a hand and caresses the mask.  
  
He gasps, cradling her hand and stilling it.  
  
"Will you never trust me?" Christine asks.  
  
Erik releases his grip, and feels her hand touch the mask again. His whimpers as he feels her lift the mask from his face. Her other hand touches the scars, and he flinches. He feels her fingers tracing across raised welts and marks, learning their shape. Christine puts her face close to his, searching his eyes despite the dark. So close she can feel his breath, thready and slow against her cheek.  
  
"Trust me," She whispers.  
  
Their lips brush. Christine feels a jolt like electricity run through her. Erik's moaning low in his throat. And again, drowning in sweetness. And it's healing.  
  
All the past is fading...  
  
There is no Opera Ghost...  
  
He isn't the Angel of Music...  
  
He's Erik....  
  
Erik's gasping. Her lips are soft and silk smooth...he knows she can taste the tears that are flowing down his ravaged cheeks on his lips. But he dosen't hate himself for his weakness, for once. She is his. And he is hers.  
  
As it was always meant to be. 


End file.
